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[seraphdreams]

SMILE, YOU'RE ON CAMERA. | YUUTA OKKOTSU.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — synopsis. when taking care of your university finances proves troublesome, the universe grants you your very own savior. but it’s gonna cost you.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — cw. smut, college au!yuuta / bimbo reader (obvi), filming, lots of porn references… a lot, virginity loss, praise, oral n fingering, slight obsession, pussydrunk yuuta, unprotected love making, yuuta’s rich and unsettling. mdni <3

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — word count. 5.3k

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — dolled up! omg, yuuta? i meant to have this out a few weeks ago but got caught in a little writing slump :( nevertheless, here’s to a new year and a new fic! yuuta’s been slowly creeping his way up my favs list , tehe !! as always, please reblog / comment if you enjoyed this , it’ll fill me with joy. thank u ♡

you’re a pornstar.

albeit, an amateur one with heaps to learn regarding the ruthless industry, but the weight still stands.

the details in which you came to the jarring conclusion were muddled with the convoluted steps that it took for you to get there, murky in your bubblegum-filled mind. all you knew was that yuuta okkotsu was a force, a gentle one, to be reckoned with.

it must’ve played out once you returned to your campus dorm beyond the dusk of midnight, under an unmitigating fatigue from the twelve hour waitressing shift just prior. through abhorrent patrons and the lack of a spendable paycheck, the excruciatingly long night barely made you enough money to even think about buying those dollish pumps you’ve been yearning for. how cruel.

in between working and haphazardly handing your earnings over to university fees and textbooks, you just couldn’t seem to make ends meet.

you would curse the day you took it upon yourself to branch away financially from your parents under the guise of growing up, since now it’d be a blessing to have even a cellphone bill paid off. whatever the issue seemed to be, lady luck was truly never bothered enough to be on your side.

fortunately for you, though, it was that same arduous night, you had been huddled against your stuffed animals in bed, mindlessly scrolling through the various social media apps on your phone; switching from sites like instagram and twitter to youtube then right back to instagram all over again, only to be met with an offer dusted in pink glitter that caught your eye as if it were made for you.

“stars needed — will pay upfront.”

it was a shoddy story post, one that could be clicked past and forgotten forever — yet, a brisk reminder of your situation in the form of borrowed, used textbooks with pages missing or vandalized, and today’s horoscope that said to take risks; you did exactly that, aiming a swipe up that would ultimately rid you of the worries of yesterday.

there were no reasons as to why you couldn’t be a star. certainly, you had the face for it, and you were told by multiple charmers that you were beyond beguiling to get anything you could ever ask for. what dismay could possibly unfold from contacting .. yuuta okkotsu .. about his offer?

hm, that’s funny. the name rang familiarity as it seeded in your mind.

must be one of yuuji’s friends.

itadori yuuji, your best friend of three years now. out of all the time you’d spent together, you came to realize that he could get along with anyone, despite their true intentions. he spoke highly of his friends as well, which earned him a sacred spot in your heart that couldn’t be replaced by anyone.

itadori had briefly mentioned in a ramen-fueled frenzy that one of his peers were “so insanely talented” and that you’d definitely get on with him. but when you asked for validity on that vague claim, all yuuji seemed to respond with was a mere “just meet him, you’ll see.”

from your recollection, the acquaintance he was boasting about, as if it was his own personal victory, was none other than your yuuta okkotsu. he was meek, stuck to a close-knit friend group consisting of maki and toge from your physics class, and the one time you ever spoke to him was to ask about yuuji’s whereabouts, to which he responded that he went back to his dorm after gojo-sensei’s lecture.

he seemed, normal. average, even. that surely had to be the case since your memory was hazy on his being otherwise.

it was true, though, yuuta was gifted. in a way that transcended words, skillful towards visual aesthetics, and careful with the craft. he would spend most of his freetime fumbling with a camera or recording the works of the mundane. overtly, he’d grown such a strong passion in the field of videography in hopes to capture the reality of humanity, the authenticity within intimacy — what could he possibly need a “star” for?

shadiness aside, you were in a tough spot, willing to do whatever to free yourself from the financial burden that was jujutsu technical university. with a swift swipe in tandem with the soft tapping of the pads of your thumbs on the keyboard, you were taking yuuta up on his offer.

within seconds, he responded back with his address and an appropriate meet-up date to start the project.

if only you were aware of how drastically your life would change from here on out.

a cluster of days had passed since you last got into contact with yuuta. he had told you to meet him at his place, claiming it would be more efficient than traveling to an unnamed destination with pounds of heavy photography equipment.

where you stood currently, was in front of the bare oak of his front door, hand wrapped in a loose fist as you knocked gently on the wood. a quick moment had passed by before you took initiative to raise your fist and knock once more. before your touch could meet the wood, a muffled “coming!” chimed beyond the door. from what you had heard on the other side; the scuttling behind the door and jingle of the lock, yuuta had opened the door soon after.

with his hand rubbing away the goosebumps that stood at the back of his neck, he beamed. cordially, warmly.

“you’re actually here. hi,”

upon first glance, yuuta had a distinct look. he stood tall, not tall enough to matter or incite intimidation, and although he wore a black button-up (a bit formal for an occasion as casual as today), his lean build shone through under the thin fabric, ripples of veins dancing up his forearms. what you couldn’t miss, however, were the grey eyebags under his emotionless navy orbs, as if he’d forgone weeks of sleep.

yuuta okkotsu was unsettling.

“hi,” your voice sounded as a sweet croon, dulcet enough that you could barely hear it yourself as it escaped in a breathy breeze. his smile grew softer in response, that monotonous gaze in his eyes fizzling away into something of serenity. “come in, please,” yuuta held the door open wider for you to tread past, caught up in observing the bunch of fabric that hugged tightly around your ass, then closed it gently behind you once you stepped completely inside. he silently cursed at himself for ogling — he truly didn’t mean to stare. you’re just a lot prettier up close. “i was just getting set up. you can have a seat if you’d like.”

as you’d expect from any guy your age, his place wasn’t much to gaze at, nor did it have much personality. in a corner to your right was a houseplant, that of the fern variety, and a few steps deeper into the abode was the living room, where yuuta resumed his fumbling with the transfiguration of his tripod.

you decided to sit on the couch across from him, taking in the bleak sight of his home. you would have almost believed it was unlived in had it not been for the scattered midterm review papers decorating his coffee table. it was obvious he had money from the endless rows of space that surrounded the two of you, although a candle or something would be nice.

he peered away from his tripod to look through the viewfinder of his camera, ensuring that the lens was functioning properly. he grew pleased to see the image of you distracted in fiddling with your thumbs reflected back at him. “are you nervous?” his gaze fell upon you through his own eyes, a concerned expression harboring his features.

you were pulled out of your muse of unfamiliarity to direct your attention to the sound of his mild voice, returning a smile to his that eased the worriment trapped behind dull, blue eyes. “n-not really, i don’t think.”

his lips curled up once more at that, in fact there wasn’t a time so far that you hadn’t noticed him without his signature smile. “here, let me help with that,” reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone, tapping away at the screen before ultimately turning it back off and settling it back into its place in his pocket.

your phone vibrated beside you, screen lighting up with a bold alert.

[YUUTA OKKOTSU SENT $1000]

before you had a chance to even process the significance of the notification, he started back up,

“i hope i got the right information, wouldn’t want your hard work to get in the wrong hands.” the tilt of his head in tandem with a chuckle resonated sheepishly, and he returned to watch you through his camera lens.

he was right. the money did soothe your nerves.

“i’ve barely done anything yet.” a ditzy giggle followed soon after your sentence, a sound that yuuta couldn’t possibly ignore. you were already starting to pull at his heartstrings.

“and you’ve done it so perfectly,” his praise left you flustered in that moment and you bit down softly on your lower lip to keep your smile at bay. “thank you, yuuta.”

you would’ve never guessed that your introverted classmate had enough experience in him to be such a flirt, or have your cheeks heating up with fervid affection, no less. but maybe yuuta was just like that; maybe this had been natural.

“no, thank you.” his thumb hovered over the record button just as his eyes met your gaze over the brim of the camera. “would you like to start now?”

he took the nod of your head as confirmation to press the record button, finally getting started with the project.

you blinked blankly at him as he tilted his head and flashed a warmhearted grin. “how old are you?” was his first question. he had asked while rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. as he did so, you took notice of the silver ring donned around his finger.

he couldn’t have been married, no?

keeping your answer as vague as possible for the sake of matching his comforting warmth, you responded, “twenty-something.” he let out a satisfied huff of air as he nodded and moved onto his next query.

“and what’s your major?”

with the question barely having enough time to linger in the suggestively tense air, he added, “you’re very beautiful, by the way. do you mind taking your dress off for me?”

as much as it should’ve alarmed you, you were swayed by his toothachingly inviting timbre, its gentleness pulling compliancy from you in a matter of a few mere words. you only shook your head, forgoing the short piece of fabric that clung to each curve and dip of your body while your nipples hardened under the glacial, artificial breeze of his home. once the silk pooled at your hips, that, along with your panties were dropped onto the floor, leaving you bare and vulnerable under the camera — and yuuta’s watchful eye.

he swallowed thickly at the sight, remaining as respectful as he could despite the monster growing in his pants; his eyes locked right back onto yours as if he’d get striked down for moving them even a millimeter south. “are you a virgin?” he queried, opting to move his hand from awkwardly at his side to fidgeting with the button at his shirt, ultimately undoing it and revealing another inch of skin at his heated chest.

from the nature of what you had signed yourself up for, you were hesitant to answer his question. of course you needed experience to be a star, and with you lacking the preconceived ability, you could kiss your $1000 goodbye..

yet he looked at you with an expectant gaze. no traces of malice in his eyes or frustration from your quick witted silence, but merely, with patience. and in that moment you couldn’t find it within yourself to lie.

“i am,” out of shame, you curled in on yourself, hoping that the sofa would engulf you, and your feelings, crossing your arms over your bare chest as if it’d create a wall of privacy behind your own humiliation. “is that okay?”

yuuta’s being only grew warmer at the response, you figured he’d be hot to the touch by now, from searing pleasure or unshakeable cordiality, you wouldn’t know. “yeah, that’s okay,” it came out breathier than he would’ve liked, a telltale sign of his aching desire. “that’s more than okay.”

truth be told, he had never met anyone as enchanting as you. you looked up at him with such trust in your eyes that it daunted him — fear that the assurance he wielded from you would shatter beneath him, and he’d be drowning. in a sea of his own wistfulness. now that he had you, he couldn’t let you go.

you were on to make a breathtaking star.

now feeling less coy than before, you relaxed your head into the palm of yuuta’s hand. you hadn’t noticed how long he’d been stroking at your cheek, or when he closed the vexing proximity between the two of you, all that mattered in that moment was the roll of his gentle vocables flowing through your ears and the thumb of his that graciously caressed your cheek.

you came to realize that he was much more handsome this way as your eyes toured his own, then down to the sliver of sweat-sheened skin peeking from underneath the black veil of his shirt, then down to his…

he’s so fucking hard.

confined against his slacks was his cock that leaked an ample amount even while it was untouched. you could make out its silhouette, something girthy, perhaps heavy, but nothing like you’d expect from yuuta. uncharacteristically huge.

“yuuta.” you whispered, mainly to yourself, as your mouth began to water at the sight, and his cheeks dusted pink once he realized what you were fixated upon.

“do you wanna,” he started up but faltered soon after when your lidded gaze flitted back up towards his. never had he felt so weak before, it was as if you’d casted a spell on him. “do you maybe want to—” he paused to avert his own gaze and embarrassment. “—put it in your mouth?”

he could’ve sworn he heard the increase of his heartbeat in his ears when you crinkled your brows, pretty face forming into an even prettier pout.

“but i’ve never—”

he stopped you before you could start, interjecting his own voice of reassurance.

“it’s okay. i’ll guide you,” taking his camera off its stand and moving the rest of the configuration elsewhere, he held it in one hand to better capture the scene unfolding before him. “just try your best for me, okay?”

“okay.” when he returned your concern with a small smile, you took it upon yourself to undo the arrangement of his pants, carefully hooking your finger into the elastic waistband of his briefs and pulling down just enough for his length to spring free.

for what felt like minutes, you marveled at his sheer size, wondering how anyone of his nature could possibly be hiding something like that. it curved upwards with a prominent vein or two running up the underside while it continued to leak, so much so, that you had to collect it all at the tip with your finger.

the tip? flushed the prettiest pink you’d ever witnessed and was as bulbous as it was mushroomed, you knew you’d have a bit of difficulty trying to fit into your mouth. it seemed to twitch under the fanning of your breath to which yuuta let out a whine of pure impatience.

“can i..?” your words trailed off when you involuntarily found yourself pressing chaste kisses along the length of his cock until they met with his sticky tip; a recreated scene from the various porn videos you’d seen. the sensation sent a jolt of palpable pleasure through his being, yuuta’s dark hair curtaining over his eyes while he made a damn good attempt at silencing his moans, with his teeth sunken into his bottom lip.

your eyes kept watch at his wavering expression while you wrapped your hand at the base of his length and began to pump slowly, yet another thing you had learned through the fascinating world of porn.

“suck it,” it was clear to you that yuuta had grown desirously impatient from your teasing, looking down at you with a hint of hunger in his beautiful orbs. “please?”

you took his words as an incentive to finally give him what he’s been leaking for, wrapping gloss-sheened lips around the thick inches of his tip, accommodating for the stretch with a dulcet whine that reverberated deeply within him. had you not been caught up in building the gradual bob of your head, he would’ve kissed you, left you with smeared lips and a tongue that ached for only him upon seeing the sinful sight of innocent eyes fixated on his own. you’re beautiful. truly, to die for.

caught all on tape to be watched over and over again.

at the bliss, yuuta’s lip parted open, alotting for a slur of groans turned whimpers to tumble past. “you- you’re already doing, so good.” he praises, the words floating on his breath. his free hand finds itself back at your face, thumbing the warmth of your hallowed cheek while he captured the moment behind his lens. once you came to a comfortable rhythm, you couldn’t stop yourself from dipping your fingers between your thighs to ease the evergrowing ache in your core. in fact, you’d been like this since the moment yuuta spoke a word to you, lightheaded and malleable — what he’s beginning to love most about you.

your digits collected slick at your entrance, the immeasurable amount of essence that you’d pool providing ample leeway for you to sink three fingers inside, pumping at the same rhythm in which you’re sucking yuuta. soft fingertips curling against your gummy walls weren’t enough, though, and when he had caught notice of your weakening resolve, his hips involuntarily bucked into your mouth.

“sorry, ‘m sorry,” he began, with a choked moan. “just- so close, so fucking close. c-can you take me in deeper?”

the hum of assurance that sounded from you sent vibrations coursing through his cock, from tip to base. had you not been preoccupied with chasing your own high, you would’ve missed the pitchy moan he let out just after. with your palm now pressed up against your clit while you worked in tandem to pleasure the nub and your greedy hole, you attempted to swallow another stubborn inch of him.

simultaneous with the bobbing of your head, he matched your pace, abdomen flexing when the white-hot pleasure became too much and he could feel it in his ears. he wanted so badly to throw his head back, completely lose himself in bliss, but he had a job to do. he wouldn’t dare let the sight of your glassy lidded eyes and glossy lips struggling to wrap themselves around the stretch of his dick go unfilmed, unseen.

as his tip continued to prod the back of your throat and your fingers aided you in relieving the discomfort from your cunt, you found yourself just dangling off the dangerous edge of your release, strokes away from making a mess — and yuuta did too.

it wasn’t long until his head started spinning, legs got weaker, and his core coiled tighter; all the signs of a mindblowing orgasm, and blew his mind, you did. “baby- y/n, if you keep doing that- i might cum.” what he was referring to was the way you fondled his balls in the warmth of your soft hands, yet another trick you had learned from porn. “i don’t wanna cum in your mouth but if you—,”

a jumbled slew of curses flowed from his lips as he did the inevitable, shot his load deep down your throat, gently thrusting his cock in shallow strokes to jettison every last remaining drop. the taste on your tongue was nothing like you’d be warned of before. yuuta wasn’t bitter, he went down easy.

hell, you’d use his cum as a condiment for desserts if you could.

in a matter of moments, your own high had washed over you like cold water over a heated body, much needed and refreshing. once he hesitantly pulled out from the heat of your mouth, cock still hard and twitching for more, he gently pushed back strands of loose hair behind your ear.

“can i see?”

you held out your cream-slickened fingers, sopping with your juices as yuuta proceeded to catch how they dripped on camera. he then took your palm, with the cadence of a knight kissing the back of a princess’s hand, and slipped the soiled digits into his mouth. his tongue lavved around your index and middle fingers while he hummed satisfactorily at your taste. “you’re just as sweet as i imagined.” he smiled, finding amusement in your post-orgasmic, dazed state.

“do you do this with a lot of other girls, yuuta?” you queried, taking the time to scan your eyes over his face. it was as if he seemed to get more attractive as your time with him went on. he tilted his head slightly, finding your question endearing. “you’re my first, actually.” yuuta responded softly, as if his normal speaking voice would be too heavy on your delicate ears.

you jumped at the chance to tease him as he did you, placing your thumb back over the slit of his hard-on and lightly rubbing; which resonated within yuuta as a tonal mewl. a little smile pulled at your lips when you got your perfect reaction. “can you be my first?”

“i’d love to be,” he took your request with unadulterated honor as if he’d been tasked by the deities above to serve you. “just- just lay back for me. i promise i’ll take good care of you.”

and that you did; conforming to his call of request with such compliance it made his heart swell. you had positioned your body to rest languidly against the seat of the sofa, shaky legs hesitant to spread fully while your hand roamed up your sternum to find solace in kneading your tits.

he couldn’t deny how beautiful you looked, laid out for him as such. how had he been so lucky to be the only one to have the opportunity to marvel at the scene? with a steady hand, he faintly trails his hand up the expanse of your inner thigh, a silent beckon for you to open your legs wider. involuntarily so, your body had accepted his presence and allowed for the spreading of your thighs.

what you’d come to notice with yuuta was that he was watchful, observant. he seemed to pick up on every detail, even the minuscule bits that were most likely to fly over anyone else’s head, had been taken into account. it’s probably why he’s immensely proficient at what he does. not once had he allowed himself to miss the labored heaving of your chest, or the sheen of sweat thinly coating your body — the twitching of your clit when he stroked featherlight touches at the nub. he couldn’t call himself a true cameraman then.

his fingers had collected remnants of your previous orgasm before they worked in tandem, both middle and ring, to prod at your sensitive hole, slowly sinking themselves in. it was almost embarrassing how quickly your greedy cunt swallowed him in, as if it’d been waiting for his touch for years now. “y-yuuta, ‘m still sensitive.” you crooned in response to his digits exploring your cavern, plush walls gripping him with such tautness that he’d found it difficult to even curl his fingers.

his own mind spun (and cock leaked) at the thought of that same warmth around his length, and when you called his name, all he could think about was how pretty you’d sound moaning it. he wouldn’t mind if you were sonorous, if the neighbors would hear, if inumaki who lived downstairs would come knocking with a mouthful of complaints, if the whole world knew his name; because in that moment, yuuta okkotsu was yours.

yuuta okkotsu was in love.

after some shallow pumping, enough to have your legs attempting to enclose around his arm, yuuta had pulled his digits out and replaced the lost sensation with the fat tip of his cock stroking your slit up and down.

“i’m gonna put it in, okay? if you want me to stop, tell me. if i'm going too fast or slow, let me know.”

he perused your face for a hint of an answer, seemingly nothing going on behind your vacant, large eyes. your initial response was curt, an ode to the simplistic nature of your mind. “mhm.”

how endearing you were to him, just a unadorned reaction weakening his being, causing his heart to figuratively crumble within its confines against his ribcage. he had searched for a heartier answer, something tangible to hold on to, because, lord knows how terrible he’d feel if he took your indication the wrong way. “can you be vocal for me, please?”

you nodded your head. “i’ll let you know, yuuta.”

with a carefulness that only came from the most benign of beings, he had sunken the first inch of himself into your awaiting heat.

he was paused when your hand dashed to his lower abdomen, futilely pressing against the skin.

“wait—” you huffed wantonly. “—‘s too big.”

his eyes wavered with concern, hidden under the veil of pure arousal. in yuuta’s case he had dreamed of a compliment as self fulfilling as yours, for his thoughts of being average were shattered upon first inch. “should i stop?”

you shook your head, reveling in the light of his attentivity towards you and your body. “no,” you moved your hand from his abdomen. “don’t stop.”

one of his arms rested beside your head, helping to prop him up over your body while he dropped his head down to watch the way your bodies connected. gradually, the sight of his length slowly sinking inside, stretching you out further and further until he was in to the hilt flooded his vision. yuuta had caught on to your labored gasps, merely growing harder from your honeyed voice like music to his ears.

he then lifted his head, strands of inky, out-of-place tresses falling over his face and partially covering the depth of lingering eyes, that lingered for a second too long, causing that shuddering sensation you had once felt when you first met him to reappear. he held his camcorder beside his face, an all too cheerful grin masked over his features. “i’m all in!”

creepy.

there was no doubt that you hadn’t felt full. he practically spilled over with how much girth he possessed and throbbed innately within your walls. the swell of your tummy from just how deep he was, was enough to tear away at his composure and drag his length back before driving his hips in at a force unrecognizable to him. the yelp you had let out from his eager thrust dwindled into a blissful moan. “sorry, so sorry.” he whispered, unable to take his eyes off the faultless assortment of breathtaking features that was your face, eyebrows creased together, parted lips and eyes squeezed closed as if you’d been focused solely on the pleasure he was giving you.

his next thrust stroked softer than its predecessor, having no remnants of eagerness but instead, the nuance of a man that’d been simply smitten.

the meticulousness of his ministrations coursed through your body wondrously, each push and pull lathered in lust, savored to be remembered for the rest of his time on earth. it was as if he’d known your body for years, knew every dip and fold, every swell and mast, aware of what exactly it took to leave your body hungry for his touches.

you’d grown comfortable in the pace at which he set, your mind hazing over each time the blunt tip grazed along your gspot. he peppered kisses along your jaw and down your sternum, the fanning of his warm breath against your chest doing the minimum in stiffening the peaks of your breasts. shootable footage forgotten, yuuta took your mound into his mouth, teeth gently rolling against your nipple which caused you to tighten around his cock in response, the sweetest mewl he’s ever heard from you tumbling from your throat.

“at least take me on a date first, yuuta..” the wittiness of your voice had earned a stifled smile from him, finding utmost admiration in the suggestion. he’ll be sure to take you up on your offer, just as you had done for him.

when you felt the familiar coil within you starting to build up once more, you dipped your hand down to rub at your clit in tandem with the increasing vigor of his strokes. the sensation was all too foreign to you, too pleasurable that you couldn’t keep your sounds at bay. “‘m so close, g-gonna cum!” you had warned, yuuta pulled away from your tit with a soft pop. he chose to rest his head at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, mindlessly chanting the words like a mantra.

“i love you, i love you,” his pace faltered, growing sloppier by the second. “love you, love you so much.”

intoxicated by your heat, your scent, just you being you, and being so perfect — yuuta was pussydrunk. incredibly so. never in his life had he ever felt as high as you made him. you were an angel, sent to him from heaven, to defile and mark.

quickly, your release surged through you in torrents of ecstasy, nothing that you’ve experienced before, coating yuuta’s cock in the glorious essence of you. “cumming!” you cry, to no avail particularly since yuuta wasn’t wholeheartedly aware of the situation at hand. his mind was clouded with you, just as you were full of him, wincing in the aftershocks of your fervent orgasm and convulsing around his length with need.

it wasn’t long before his own ununified thrusts came to a sudden close, signifying the warm spurts of cum painting your insides, filling you entirely to the brim and leaking down your ass from riding out his high.

“god, i love you.” he whined, pressing faint kisses to your neck, unable to peel himself away from your fervid body. coming to your senses, his words finally resonated for you. “we only just met.”

he pulled himself up, opting to look down at your flushed face with a vague hint of confusion on his face as he tilted his head. “have we?”

“we have.” you nodded.

to yuuta, he’s known you his whole life. you were the light of his existence, the fire in his heart. had he managed to confuse you with someone else? surely, that wasn’t the case.

once he pulled out of you, he made sure to capture the moment that you leaked his seed on film, but in that time, borrowed jealousy had filled his soul. he couldn’t share the tape as he had planned, no one else deserved to see you in the same way he did. no one.

he tucked himself back into his pants, leaving you bare and oozing for just one second to fetch a warm wet rag to clean you up with. when he came back, you noticed just how chipper he’d gotten, if that were even possible. “you were amazing,” he smiled, gently wiping your folds pristine. “i’m so grateful you came to me.” the smile you returned matched his own, “thank you, you were- really good too.”

he perked up, eyes moving from between your thighs to your face. “really?” and when you nodded to him, you could see the apparent relief flow within his being. “you know,” he started. “i’m very interested in you.”

you tilt your head, jutting your lips in a cute pout. “interested, how?”

the camcorder that now resided on his coffee table, unpresumebly documenting the scene on display was picked up by yuuta, and turned off. he grinned softly, eyes shutting from his ear to ear smile.

“may i take you on a date?”

[artificialqueens]

Me and You Together, 7/10 (Taywhora) - Ortega

fic summary: The cardinal rule of having flatmates is that you Do Not Catch Feelings For Your Flatmates, because everything inevitably goes to shit and gets made horrifically awkward. A’whora and Tayce both know this, but being in first year of uni and making good decisions have never really gone hand in hand.

a/n: thank u so so much for all the continued love and support on this!!!! i am absolute dogshit at replying to comments but i do see them all and screech at everty single one, so thank you sosososO much for every like, ask, reply and reblog! in this chapter u all get some answers to the questions the last chapter brought up........apologies if ur not keen on them though xo

last chapter: the girls broke their own rules and had their own kind of kitchen "afterparty" after Lawrence's friend's flat party, but Tayce couldn't give A'whora the answers she desperately wanted.

this chapter: tensions run high in block 4 flat 10, as feelings struggle to stay hidden and truths begin to surface.

***

A’whora is happy.

Really, why would she not be? She gets to hang out with and sleep with the girl that’s been on her mind for months and months and months. They go out for drinks with the others and fall into bed together afterwards, steal glances at each other in the kitchen which end in holding hands and pulling each other into one of their bedrooms. They’re incredible and intense and their chemistry rages like a fire and A’whora can never get enough.

The thing about Tayce paying for brunch on Valentine’s day is that they’re caught in a cycle of having to pay each other back, one that A’whora doesn’t ever want to break. They go for lunch after lectures and treat each other to dinner and walk around the city together where they look through the windows of the designer shops and gawk at the bags and shoes. Tayce brought her car up from Newport at the end of last month and she’s driven A’whora anywhere and everywhere too, day trips to the beach and the forest and the huge reservoir just outside the city. They smile at each other across tables and link arms when they walk and laugh and chat like it’s easy. It is easy. It’s nice and it’s comfortable and it feels right.

They’ve started sleeping over too, sometimes. If it’s late and they’re both that sleepy, overwhelmed way after they’ve tired each other out, Tayce will chuck A’whora one of her huge t-shirts and a pair of pyjama shorts and they’ll curl up together, Tayce spooning her with her arm around her waist and resting on her tummy. It’s strange- A’whora’s always felt a little self-conscious of her stomach, the way it isn’t flat like a supermodel’s despite the fact she knows that’s not how human bodies work. But when Tayce is holding her like that she doesn’t feel embarrassed or ashamed; just appreciated and protected, like she’s as beautiful as Tayce tells her all the time.

It’s funny knowing how Tayce sleeps: the way she flops over onto her side and stretches out in the middle of the night, the way A’whora will sometimes get an arm to the face or a kick to the shin; because if a single bed isn’t enough for the pair of them at the best of times it’s certainly not enough to accommodate Tayce trying to spread her entire body over every square centimetre of it while unconscious. What’s equally strange is having Tayce know how she sleeps too. A’whora’s always been a sleeptalker, she knows this, but it gives sleeping next to Tayce a new element of terror any time she wakes up to her giggling, telling her the stupid things she’d been saying punctuated by forehead kisses. A’whora worries that one night she’ll say something she’s deliberately been keeping hidden.

Because even though she’s happy...she’d be lying if she said she doesn’t want more. Not much more. Just to be able to call Tayce hers properly. She would love to tell Tayce just how much she likes her; more than a friend, more than a friend with benefits.

“Why don’t you just be honest with her?” Ellie had asked, when they’d gone for a debrief drink together after a lecture that had ended at six at night.

They’d had a couple of these kinds of drinks; the first being the evening of Valentine’s day after Ellie and Lawrence had inadvertently walked in on them both. Ellie had practically dragged A’whora to the nearest bar and demanded to know details, something in her sparkling eyes growing dull after A’whora had told her it had been going on for over a month. A’whora had felt guilty- aside from Tayce, Ellie is her best friend in the flat, and not telling her about what had been happening between her and Tayce had admittedly felt weird. It was clear that keeping it from Ellie had hurt her too even if she didn’t say it, and even after A’whora had apologised twice she’d still felt guilty even though Ellie had batted her away with a ‘don’t be silly!’ and ‘it’s fine!’.

To make up for it, A’whora has let Ellie be her agony aunt about all things Tayce-related ever since. Which has been great, until she gives her ridiculous suggestions like telling Tayce how she feels.

A’whora remembers scrunching her face up as she sipped her too-strong cocktail, shaking her head in a no . “There’s no way. I’m not risking her telling me she doesn’t feel the same, are you insane?! It’d totally ruin the friendship.”

Ellie had choked on her drink in a laugh, rushing to explain herself to A’whora as she gulped. “Babe. You’re literally shagging without putting a label on it. You ruined the friendship a long time ago.”

A’whora had shared the laugh but something heavy and uncomfortable had settled itself in her gut in response to Ellie’s words.

It’s the same feeling that settles in her gut whenever Tayce reacts to Lawrence’s jokes. On the whole, the reaction from the others to her and Tayce sleeping together has been relatively muted- Bimini will just smirk at them every so often, a knowing smile on their face, while Tia will just grin at them all dippy and tell them that they’re cute- but Lawrence has really gone off the deep end. She sends memes to the flat group chat about them (a screenshot of her Google searching ‘can you write fanfiction about your flatmates’ springs to mind) and will constantly poke fun at the apparent ever-present sexual tension between the pair of them.

A’whora knows Lawrence doesn’t do it to be malicious; it’s half borne out of jealousy, as A’whora knows by now how much she’s infatuated with Ellie. If she’s being honest, she actually doesn’t mind the jokes. Even though they’re a bit embarrassing, they serve as a little illustration to A’whora that she and Tayce are in this together. Lawrence joking about the pair of them is like a validation; that they’re good together, that they work, that they’re seen as a unit by others. It’s silly, but it’s almost contributing to the argument that they should be together for real. That they should be girlfriends.

Girlfriends. Even just thinking about being Tayce’s girlfriend sends 100 volts through A’whora’s bloodstream.

But Tayce doesn’t seem to appreciate Lawrence’s jokes like A’whora does. At first Tayce had given them a courtesy snort, the sort of reaction an adult would give a child telling a weak knock-knock joke. But the more jokes Lawrence makes, the less time Tayce seems to have for them. She’s started firing back with biting quips of her own about Lawrence’s own single situation, balls of rolled-up barbed wire lobbed at a friend just trying to take the piss. Of course, Lawrence being Lawrence sees that Tayce is bothered by the jokes and uses this as an invitation to continue making them. She enjoys winding her friends up because it always comes from a place of love, and A’whora knows this. She knows they’re just jokes.

She doesn’t get why Tayce doesn’t appreciate them the same as she does. The wondering puts doubts in her head, ones she wishes weren’t there.

A’whora’s glad, then, when the heat is off them and on the other couple in the flat- the official one, that is. It’s an ordinary Thursday evening and Lawrence is rifling through the fridge looking for something to make for dinner from the sorry selection of food in the fridge. Bimini is perched on one of the sofas with their head in their phone smiling slightly at the screen as they type, and Ellie is at the other end with her head in one of the books she needs to read for her course, a frown deep on her face and her mouth moving silently as she tackles each line. A’whora is cuddled up next to Tayce on the other sofa, both of them on their laptops as they allegedly begin research for their final essay of the year but are simply using it as a guise to watch old Vivienne Westwood runway shows.

It’s calm and it’s quiet and it’s chilled until Tia nearly boots the fire door down, an excitable smile on her face like a puppy as she carries her open laptop in her hands, Veronica in tow behind her.

“Ladies and gentlethem, a moment of your time please!” she announces with a grand gesture, making all heads snap her way. Having got everyone’s attention, Tia places the laptop on the dining table and claps her hands together with pride. “I’ve decided...I’m running for activities officer in the student elections!”

There’s a small cry of delight from the girls, but the moment is short-lived as Bimini snorts a laugh from the sofa. Horrified at this out-of-character unkind moment from her friend, A’whora whips her head around only to find Bimini’s head still in their phone. Suddenly realising eyes are on them, Bimini blushes red, flinching a little as they look up.

“Shit, sorry. Just Asttina...sent something funny. Anyway, sorry, activities? G’wan, girl, you’ll nail it!”

Veronica pipes up with pride beside her girlfriend. “Oh, she absolutely will with what we’ve just put together. Come see!”

Intrigued, A’whora shares an amused gaze with Tayce as they slide off the sofa, gathering round the laptop with the others and waiting with bated breath as Veronica hits play, Tia standing bashfully beside her.

What follows is what can only be described as a hallucinogenic trip. It’s Tia standing in the middle of the campus square as Tik Tok by Ke$ha plays in the background, and a second later she begins singing.

“ Wake up in the morning thinking we need more, we need more space, we need more storage, we need more sup-port…”

“STOP!” Lawrence yells with delight, reaching out and clutching Tia’s arm in excitement.

A’whora, for her part, genuinely can’t tell if it’s the most iconic thing she’s ever seen or a total disaster. The campaign video rolls on with Tia singing the parody of the song as a soundtrack to her popping up around campus; in the union, in lecture theatres, in the square outside the graduation hall. She can’t quite believe it when it reaches the chorus, though, and Tia, Veronica, and a couple more students start dancing in what appears to be the library foyer.

“ Vote Tia for Activities if you want bet-ter facilities, it’s al-right, I’mma fight for more events on inter-site…”

“Oh, Tia. What is this?” Tayce giggles beside A’whora. She doesn’t miss the glare Ellie shoots her way.

“Shut up, ya shady cow! I think it’s brilliant.”

“Did you just get random fuckers off the street to do that dance with you?” Bimini inquires patiently.

“They’re my flatmates. You’ve met them,” Veronica explains, not without an edge of irritation.

The video continues for the full duration of the song, and when it’s over A’whora has to fight every shady urge she possesses and clap for Tia, because she does look proud of what she and Veronica have made, even if it’s making A’whora cringe so much she feels her muscles constrict.

“Fuckin’ brilliant babes. You’ll walk it wi’ that,” Lawrence thumps Tia on the back encouragingly. Her face turns scheming as she opens her mouth again. “When you do become the activities officer, d’you think you could officiate some kind of anti-sickness pill for whenever Tayce and A’whora start cuddling on the sofa?”

A’whora can’t help the laugh she blurts out as she curls her fingers around Tayce’s. Tayce’s don’t wrap around hers in the same way. Instead she stiffens, smiles falsely at her flatmate.

“Yeah, Tia, do you think you could officiate some sort of anti-bullshit procedure for whenever Lawrence opens her bloody gob?”

“Aw, alright, alright. I’ve clearly touched a nerve,” Lawrence protests apologetically, but the twinkle in her eye suggests there’s more to come. “Although not as many as A’whora’s touched, clearly, aren’t there 8,000 of them in the clit?”

“Lawrence!” A’whora yells in outrage, but she’s laughing like the others are in spite of herself. Her heart drops though when Tayce tugs her hand away, crosses the room briskly to the hall door and wrenches it open, gone before she knows it.

All that’s left is a silence as awkward as it’s long.

Bimini bites their lip as they move first. “I’ll go talk to her.”

A’whora frowns. “Should I-”

“Best to leave it a bit, yeah?” Bimini advises apologetically, opening the door gentler than Tayce had before they disappear.

The silence only resumes for a second before it’s Ellie that breaks it.

“Lawrence!” she hisses, narrowing her eyes at her. Lawrence’s mouth drops open, shocked as she is offended.

“What the hell did I do?!”

Ellie gives a derisive laugh before A’whora can even say anything. “Are you joking?! You keep winding her up and it’s so obvious she doesn’t like it. You need to stop that shit.”

“Would you chill out? Tayce will be fine in about five minutes. The girl’s got a life threatening case of cannae-take-a-joke-itis and she fell and bruised her pride. I didn’t fucking...come in her mouth.”

Ellie gives a colossal roll of her eyes, folds her arms over her chest. “Cut the jokes out for a goddamn minute. You’ve hurt your friend’s feelings, are you not even going to go see what’s up with her?”

Lawrence gives a light shrug, unbothered. “Aw, listen to yourself! You’re being so overdramatic, Tayce is my friend, it’s just banter. She knows I don’t mean it. Anyway, it’s not like A’whora minds!”

“Well a relationship consists of two people, Lawrence. Not that you’d know,” Ellie snaps. Her bluntness shocks A’whora and she’s vaguely aware of Tia and Veronica making a slow, awkward exit from the room, but this doesn’t stop Lawrence from firing back.

“Aw, says little miss loved-up herself? Where’s your fuckin’ other half then, eh? Since you know so much about relationships, clearly?”

For a moment, Ellie’s face is slapped with a look of pure hurt. It’s clear she didn’t expect Lawrence to match her energy, hit her with words she doesn’t mean just like Ellie has done to her. But then her expression steels and her jaw sets tight before her mouth opens again. “I might not have a boyfriend or a fucking girlfriend but at least I have the common sense and emotional range not to rip the piss out of my flatmates’ fragile fucking friends with benefits setup!?”

Lawrence scowls back, shakes her head with derision. “You know what, maybe you would have somebody if you didn’t spend half your fucking life moping about your flatmate, who by the way, is in love with her girlfriend and has been for fucking months!”

“Well at least I have feelings! What the fuck are you, a joke book in a skin suit?” Ellie retorts quickly.

All of a sudden it looks like part of Lawrence crumbles. Shutters fly down behind her eyes and A’whora can see Ellie regrets her words. It’s too late, though, because they’re out, and before Ellie can say anything else Lawrence is turning to A’whora and laughing with a sneer.

“Jesus Christ, who left the gate to the cunt farm open?!”

“Fuck you, Lawrence,” Ellie spits, before storming towards the door just as Tayce had done minutes earlier.

All that’s left is A’whora, Lawrence, and a tense silence. A’whora bites her lip. She knows she should go after Ellie, and she will. But Lawrence is standing rooted to the spot, her eyes trained on the door Ellie’s just left through, and they’re drowning in a deep regret.

“Lawrence,” A’whora starts, making to comfort her even though her mind is still on Tayce and what the matter with her is too.

“A’whora, it’s fine. I’m not arsed,” Lawrence waves her away, crossing the room to the kitchen. “Well, the human fucking joke book is gonny go make her dinner, if you’re wanting a bowl? I’m just making bolognese-”

“Babe,” A’whora cuts in again, without really knowing what she can say. Just then the door opens again and her heart rises with the thought that Tayce might be on the other side of it, but it’s Tia and Veronica, concern on both their faces.

“Sorry. We thought it was best to give you both a minute,” Tia explains, hovering nervously with her girlfriend at the door. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine, Tia,” Lawrence sighs, her back turned and her shoulders heavy as she grips the side of the countertop. “I’ve just…”

There’s a pause that’s left lingering in the air like a heavy fog that not one of them can see clearly through.

“...fucked it with the girl I’ve liked for two years.”

A’whora watches Tia’s face contort in recognition. “...Ellie?”

As Lawrence sighs, her shoulders sag. “Yeah.”

Tia blinks, appeals to Veronica as if she would have any more of an idea. “Oh, Loz. I never knew.”

“To be fair, you’ve been pretty wrapped up in tiny blonde puppy love since the end of January,” A’whora says, unable to muster up the joy or good humour to make it into the joke it’s intended to be.

“Well if she was never going to see me as anything more than a friend before, she definitely isny going to now,” Lawrence says quietly, shuffling her feet as she moves to the fridge. “Especially since she’s got her heart set on someone else.”

“Who?” Veronica asks. A’whora holds her breath. Tia and Veronica clearly hadn’t heard what Lawrence and Ellie had said when they’d been arguing. If Lawrence is angry at Ellie for the things she’s said, now would be the perfect time to throw her under the bus, to make things awkward between her and Tia.

But Lawrence just shakes her head as she starts taking out her ingredients for dinner. “It’s not anyone you’d know. Someone we know from back home.”

A’whora takes the opportunity to distract the two girls, namely since her head is beginning to fill up with worst-case-scenarios involving Tayce. “Did you two hear Bim come out of Tayce’s room at all?”

Veronica shakes her head at the same time Tia speaks. “They’re still in there.”

A’whora nibbles on a little ragged nail on her right hand. Is Tayce annoyed at Lawrence or is she actually annoyed at her ? She doesn’t know what she’s meant to have done. Lawrence’s joke was lukewarm, fair enough, but she can’t help but think about Tayce’s reluctance to take her hand, the way she didn’t even crack a smile at the joke.

She shakes her head to clear her mind and moves to the kitchen door at the same time. If Tayce is busy with Bimini, she’s at least going to be there for her other close friend in the flat. “I’m going to go talk to Ellie.”

Before anyone (Lawrence) can protest, A’whora’s making her way down the hall and knocking on Ellie’s door. There’s a rapid snuffling before a thud of heavy, irked footsteps on the other side, and then the door is thrown open to reveal Ellie; mascara smudged, eyes red, and her mouth set in a line of irritation before her expression softens when she realises it’s A’whora.

“Can I come in?”

Ellie relents and opens the door, snuffling as she pads back to her bed and grabs the soft and well-worn Piglet plushie from on top of it, curls up into the foetal position, and thuds her head against the pillow.

“I just wanted to see if you were okay,” A’whora says softly, crossing the room and sitting down on the edge of Ellie’s bed beside her. “Obviously, like...things were said.”

“Obviously,” Ellie snorts out snarkily. A’whora narrows her eyes at her before realising Ellie’s got tears in hers, and her voice is thick with upset as she speaks again. “Fuck...I’m just so hurt and angry but I feel so guilty at the same time? I know I was nasty to Lawrence, and I know we argue all the time but this was different. This was real, and I hurt her, and…”

Ellie sniffs and wipes her nose on the back of Piglet’s ear. A’whora fights with every embryo she possesses not to screw up her face at the action.

“But fuckin’ hell, Lawrence...she hurt me too, you know? I mean she knows how much I liked Tia, and it’s taking me a while to get over her, and fuck, I know that’s stupid because we didn’t even go out, but like...I fucking take things to heart, you know? I care, and it’s not my fault she’s never cared about anybody other than herself.”

“Lawrence cares about you,” A’whora says, and it’s out before she knows it. She bites her lip as if to prevent any more words from coming out, but if Ellie’s picked up on her transgression she doesn’t show it. Ellie’s scowling as she sits up in bed, fixes A’whora with a disbelieving glare.

“She’s got a funny fucking way of showing it, then, doesn’t she? Lawrence’s default is just joke, joke, joke, deflect, and then joke some more. She’s incapable of being serious.”

“Ellie…” A’whora tries to interrupt. She doesn’t know what she wants to say, and she doesn’t know how she can make Ellie understand without revealing Lawrence’s secret. All she knows is that her exasperation at Ellie’s blindness and Lawrence’s moping is reaching a boiling point, and she’s never been so dangerously close to letting things spill.

“I mean I know that joke book in a skin suit thing was harsh, but she said it first, not me! She said that ages ago on my birthday night out, when I’d been upset about Tia and she was trying to cheer me up. And she’d said she had a heart underneath it all but fuck that, she doesn’t know the first thing about feelings.”

“Ellie-”

“Do you know of all the years we’ve been friends, she’s never once told me about anyone she likes? I mean I’ve told her every single time I like someone new. But it’s like, if she can’t even open up to me, who’s like, her oldest friend, then really who the fuck will she open up to-”

“Ellie! For fuck’s sake, listen!” A’whora cuts in, exasperated and at her wit’s end and still all too aware of the fact Tayce ran from the kitchen and hasn’t returned or attempted to see her. Squeezing her eyes shut and apologising to Lawrence in her head in case this goes disastrously wrong, A’whora opens her mouth again. “Lawrence likes you. Properly.”

It’s only when it’s out that A’whora feels the drop in her stomach, not least because she’s questioning how loud she actually blurted the whole thing out. She wants to say it’s worth it from the way Ellie’s left silent, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, but the possibility that she’s just completely wrecked a friendship only makes the guilt and dread sink in her stomach like a stone in a canal.

“I…” A’whora begins, unable to formulate her words properly for the upteenth time that day. She wishes she could be more like Bimini- think first, speak after- and, with a stab to her heart, she imagines what Tayce could be telling them in her room, how she could be opening up to Bimini in a way she couldn’t with her.

“Well,” Ellie finally formulates, her mouth still wide like a goldfish’s. “That’s, um. Unexpected information.”

There’s another silence where A’whora is just about to apologise, but then Ellie speaks again, wiping her eyes with her tears now completely gone. “Did she tell you this?”

A’whora scuffs her foot awkwardly, bites her lip before she lets her words out. “Lawrence told Tayce a while back. And Tayce told me. But nobody else knows, I don’t think.”

Ellie exhales heavily. “Okay. Good.”

There’s another pause where A’whora reaches out and takes Ellie’s hand. “Babe, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin anything-”

“No, you’ve not. It’s just…” Ellie looks up to the ceiling, then squeezes her eyes shut. “...fuck, it’s complicated.”

A’whora’s stomach stops twisting with anxiety at Ellie’s words, and instead she finds her eyes widening a little as her curiosity is piqued. Ellie clearly notices her response and huffs a little sigh, tense and anxious and reluctant to reveal what it is that’s bothering her.

“Like...two years ago? Three years ago? A while back, anyway...I had feelings for Lawrence,” Ellie mutters into her plushie, and A’whora can’t stop the way she gasps Panto-style in shock. She would never have guessed that at all- in fact at times Ellie's friendship with Lawrence seemed one based on mutual exasperation- so to know that she had once felt the same about her friend is a revelation to say the least.

A’whora’s managed to elicit a smile from Ellie at her over-the-top reaction, and it seems to prompt her to keep going. “We were still in high school and we lived on opposite sides of the country...it would never have worked, and fifteen-year-old me knew that despite what I wrote in my diary and the initials I drew hearts round in my notebooks. So my feelings just ended up...dying off, I guess. We ended up being friends, and that’s been fine, you know? It’s not like I’ve been hiding a crush from her for years. But now...knowing she feels like that about me...it’s weird. It’s like all those feelings from when I was fifteen…”

“...have all come flooding back because you know Lawrence is a possibility for you now,” A’whora finishes for her, completely in sync with how Ellie’s rationalising things. Ellie rapidly points at her and nods emphatically.

“That’s exactly it! It’s strange. Like even though I know she’s my friend and nothing’s changed between us...I know I’m blushing, I can feel it, and my stomach’s got wee nervous butterflies. For fuck’s sake,” Ellie shakes her head in exasperation, covers her face with her hands. “It’s so embarrassing. And it’s awkward? What the hell am I meant to do, just go through there after a bust-up and be like ‘oh by the way, heard you fancy me’ ?”

A’whora hums in understanding. She thinks for a moment, both girls sharing a comfortable silence that’s cushioned by the secret that’s just been shared. And then she speaks. If only she’d had the wherewithal to do things in that order when she’d been with Tayce.

“You don’t need to do anything about it now. I’d say re-establish the friendship first. Sit on it for a bit,” she says. “See how you feel about her knowing what you know now as time goes by a bit.”

“Yeah,” Ellie nods slowly. She smiles gently, squeezes A’whora’s hand in gratitude. “Thanks, chick. I’m lucky to have made you as a friend.”

A’whora smiles back in affirmation, and she’s about to say the same when the door to Ellie’s room cracks open a little to reveal Bimini on the other side.

“Sorry to interrupt,” they say, apologetic and quiet. “I’m off round to Asttina’s. Just thought I should let you know so you could go talk to Tayce, A’whora.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks, Bim,” A’whora frowns minutely, a little thrown by their phrasing. She’s about to dig a little deeper when Ellie interrupts, a mischievous smile on her face as she addresses her other flatmate.

“Bimini, what’s actually going on between you and her? I know a lady never tells, but what about an enby?”

“Depends ‘ow much wine you put in ‘em. Laters,” Bimini winks, tuning on their heel and letting the door shut behind them. It leaves A’whora and Ellie alone to laugh, and then fall into a comfortable silence.

“I know you’ll want to talk to Tayce. I’ll maybe phone Anne. Talk this fucking...Eastenders episode of my life through with them,” Ellie laughs, shaking her head in disbelief and running her hands down her face. A’whora’s thankful for her permission, and she gives her hand a squeeze in return as she slips off the edge of the bed, pads softly to the door.

“Wish me luck. Got a feeling I’ll need it.”

Ellie bats her away flippantly. “‘Course you won’t. It’s Tayce. She’s so bloody gone for you it’s ridiculous.”

As A’whora smiles shyly and waves Ellie goodbye for now, she really hopes her friend is right.

The walk to Tayce’s room from Ellie’s is only a matter of metres, but with every step A’whora takes it only seems to drag longer, the mixture of apprehension and dread a deadly cocktail in her gut. She finds herself replaying Lawrence’s joke and her own reaction to it in her head, trying to figure out what she’s done wrong. She can’t come up with anything. So why does she feel responsible?

Finally reaching Tayce’s door she knocks gently and hesitantly, everything in her body tense as she waits to hear the yell of permission to enter. What comes instead is a come in that’s so muted A’whora’s left wondering if it’s even Tayce’s voice at all. She pushes the door anyway just in case, and as it slowly opens it reveals Tayce sitting on her bed with her knees up to her chest and her phone in her hand, her thumbs twisting furiously as she taps out a message on the screen.

Presumably a message to her friends back home about how much she now hates her. Good.

Tayce’s gaze flicks up from the screen when she enters, and unlike in Ellie’s room where she chose to sit on the end of the bed, A’whora remains at the door. “Hey. Am I alright to come in?”

Tayce gives a disinterested shrug. “Free country.”

A’whora feels her shoulders sag in response. Well, we’re off to a great start here.

Trying not to get too disheartened too quickly, A’whora moves to sit on the chair at Tayce’s desk. On top of it are scattered sketches, pieces of paper with little brush strokes of paint samples that resemble the colours cast against a wall when a diamond catches the light. In amongst the clutter of creativity, the scraps of insight into Tayce’s mind, A’whora’s eyes are caught by a sketch of a girl she thinks looks a lot like her.

“What’s up?” Tayce tugs her out of her observations, reminding A’whora why she’s here.

“Uh, just wondering what that was all about in the kitchen there,” A’whora checks her nails, picks at one of her cuticles nervously. “Just wanted to check you were alright.”

As A’whora looks up, she finds Tayce with her eyes still on her phone and her eyebrows raised. Her body language is tense as she nods slowly. “Mhm. I’m fine.”

A’whora can’t help the exasperated laugh she gives, finally prompting Tayce to look up from her phone with annoyance. “Tayce, come off it. You never hide how you feel. You practically held a UN summit that time Tia accidentally knocked your chicken shawarma on the kitchen floor. Look, don’t take anything Lawrence says too seriously, you know she just does it for a reaction.”

“I’m not annoyed at Lawrence,” Tayce says almost immediately, throwing her head back against her pillows and staring up at the ceiling before covering her face with her hands.

A’whora’s stomach feels tight. She’s never seen Tayce this in her own head. Normally she’s honest about her feelings, upfront and real. Throughout their whole situation together, Tayce has always been open about the fact that they’re only hooking up, that they’re just friends that happen to have good sex, to the extent where it sometimes hurts A’whora’s own feelings. It doesn’t make sense that she’s in such turmoil about a pathetic joke.

“So you’re…” A’whora puts the pieces together, frowns at her deeply. “...what, annoyed at me?”

Tayce doesn’t reply. Her hands are still over her face. A’whora’s gut ties itself in a knot.

“How come? What have I done?” she asks, instantly hating how pathetic her words sound as soon as they’re out of her mouth.

“I just feel humiliated, alright, A’whora?” Tayce sighs exasperatedly, hands suddenly launching themselves away from her face. She won’t look at her. “I’m sick of being embarrassed while you laugh along with the shitty jokes like an idiot. There. Happy?”

A’whora’s bottom lip sticks out in response to Tayce’s words, feeling like she’s been punched in the stomach. It’s the delivery that’s almost worse; Tayce isn’t a shouter, and her anger isn’t loud, instead quiet and muted and so out of character. Her annoyance clashes so violently with the way she expresses other emotions that it knocks A’whora for six. She’s confused and she’s hurt and that feeling of dread just won’t go away.

“Tayce, I can’t...I can’t apologise to you and make up if I don’t know what I’m apologising for. I’m really sorry I’ve made you feel like shit but...I don’t get how me laughing at Lawrence’s stupid jokes has affected you that badly?”

“Brilliant. Because famously any apology that’s followed by a “but” is always an award winner,” Tayce finally looks at her through narrowed eyes, sarcasm dripping from her words.

“You’re being unfair,” A’whora says, unable to help the way she glares back at Tayce. The upset and the guilt is slowly being mixed with frustration and irritation, the emotions seeping together like watercolour paints down a drain when Tayce washes her paintbrushes. “I want to give you a proper apology, but I can’t if you don’t tell me what I’ve done wrong. You’re this upset over me laughing at a couple of jokes? I don’t buy it. Tayce, what are you not telling me?”

Tayce gives a laugh of irritated disbelief, launches herself up to a sitting position. “Oh my God, do you hear yourself? You’re literally telling me I’m not allowed to be as annoyed as I am about the situation? ‘You can’t be this upset over a couple of jokes’, well what if I am?”

A’whora falls quiet, but she can feel the fury bubbling in her blood, simmering under her skin until there’s goosebumps forming on her arms and she has to fold them across her chest, hoping that the slight hug she’s giving herself is going to make her feel better. She bites her lip as she flounders in her thoughts, not quite drowning but not quite keeping her head above water either. She needs some coherency. Nothing seems to make sense.

“Tayce, please. What is going on? You’ve been off with me for a while,” A’whora sighs helplessly. A little puzzle piece slots itself together in her brain, a small speck of clarity in the chaos of her thoughts. “In fact things haven’t been the same since everyone found out about us.”

“Don’t just start making shit up,” Tayce shakes her head, but her voice is quieter and with less conviction than it held previously. It sounds as if even she doesn’t believe what she’s saying.

It’s with this that A’whora seems to find another puzzle piece, and then another, and then another, until they all fall together as a clearer picture with only perhaps one or two bits still missing. The fact Tayce hates the jokes. The fact Tayce gets embarrassed when A’whora laughs at them. The fact Tayce only seems to be herself when they’re together just the two of them.

“Oh my God,” A’whora says quietly, realisation making her face drop. “You hate that people know.”

“You know what? Yeah. I kind of do,” Tayce’s voice is heavy with exasperation, and she huffs another sigh that seems to rip through her whole body. The irritation flares up at A’whora’s heart again like a pilot light, and she feels her hands fly out wildly and her voice raise as she speaks again.

“Christ, Tayce, well if the idea of the others knowing we’re shagging is such an embarrassing prospect to you then where the fuck do we go from here?!”

Tayce shakes her head, rubbing her forehead with a free hand. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to. So what now, then? What, you just want us to stop?”

And then it’s only in the way Tayce avoids her gaze and the silence of the pause that follows that A’whora feels her worst fear launch itself into the forefront of her mind, so visceral and powerful that it seems to grab her throat in a chokehold, rendering her incapable of saying anything more.

Another puzzle piece falls into place. The fact that the reason A’whora secretly likes Lawrence’s jokes is the same reason why Tayce doesn’t; because they’re a reminder that, for all intents and purposes, that they’re together, that they’re seen as a unit.

Maybe Tayce doesn’t want that.

A’whora finally speaks again, her voice plaintive and small as it breaks the silence like a mirror. “Tayce?”

Just as Tayce exhales, runs a hand through her hair, and opens her mouth to speak, there’s a cataclysmic screech from down the corridor in the direction of the kitchen, followed by a litany of swearing in a voice that couldn’t be anyone but Lawrence’s. They both immediately look at each other in horror and, even though there’s still a sick feeling of dread in A’whora’s stomach, she shoots up from her seat and opens the door to Tayce’s room. As she runs down the corridor urgently, Tayce is following after her.

What they find in the kitchen is nothing short of chaos; Tia and Veronica are standing in the middle of the room helplessly while Ellie stands near Lawrence in the same way a lion tamer would approach a lion, as Lawrence hisses and growls and clutches her hand. It soon registers to A’whora what’s happened judging from the blood on the countertops, the blood on the kitchen knife, the blood on a half-chopped carrot, and the blood that’s currently flowing out of either Lawrence’s fingers or her hand (A’whora doesn’t want to look hard enough to check).

“What in the name of Christ has happened here?!” Tayce asks quickly, as Lawrence looks at her with exasperation.

“I don’t know, Tayce, I’m no Taggart, but it would appear I’ve sliced my fucking finger off!” she bites back sarcastically, tears of pain in the corners of her eyes as Ellie tries to hand her the kitchen tea towel. Lawrence looks at it as if Ellie may as well have handed her a toddler’s shit-filled nappy. “Not the tea towel, are you off your nut?! I cannae mind the last time we washed that. I’ve sliced through my fucking finger, I don’t want to add sepsis into the fuckin' mix!”

“I’m just trying to help!” Ellie fires back, equal parts hurt, worried and cross.

“I’ll get a clean towel,” Tia says quickly, running through to her room with urgency.

“Should we call an ambulance?” A’whora asks, biting her lip and unable to do anything except watch the events unfold. Veronica shakes her head.

“It’s not really life threatening, we shouldn’t phone 999.”

“Not life threatening?!” Lawrence cries in outrage, as Tia returns with a towel and hands it to her. “Have you seen the amount of blood I’m losing? I’ll be amazed if I’m still alive within the hour!”

“Don’t be dramatic. It looks worse than it is,” Ellie shakes her head, helping Lawrence wrap the towel around her hand and getting blood on the sleeve of her jumper in the process. The gesture renders Lawrence less hostile towards her than she seemed to have been before, and she grips Ellie’s hand with the one she hasn’t injured.

“I think it’s Accident and Emergency or Minor Injuries for something like this,” Veronica explains calmly, looking at her phone where she’s presumably just looked the information up.

A’whora turns to Tayce quickly. Even though they still haven’t resolved their argument, their friend is still in need of help and they have to work together. “Could you drive her?”

Tayce pulls an awkward face, looks at the blood splatters surrounding Lawrence. “Is there not a bus that goes out to the hospital? I’m just thinking about the stains in my car-”

“Aw aye, that’s right, yeah. I’ll hop on the number six out to A&E just so you don’t get blood stains in your ‘13 plate fuckin’ Corsa,” Lawrence snaps, Ellie looking at Tayce with a similar incredulity.

“No, no, you’re right, fuck, of course,” Tayce shakes her head, running her hands down her face. Even after everything they’ve said, A’whora feels her heart hurt for Tayce; she’s clearly distressed by the sight of the blood, and A’whora can see her growing more tense with each passing second.

“If you drive I can come with you and keep an eye on Lawrence while you concentrate on getting us there,” she suggests. Tayce nods with a grim acceptance.

“Okay. I’ll need someone to direct me anyway, I’ve got no idea where the fuck I’m going.”

“I can come and sit with Lawrence in the back and A’whora can do the directions?” Ellie immediately suggests. It seems as if her argument with Lawrence has been forgotten, and the two of them are still holding hands.

“Okay, great. I’ll get my keys,” Tayce shrugs, dashing out of the room.

Tia turns to the rest of the girls. “While you guys are gone, me and Ronnie can clean up? I don’t know if we’ll get our deposit back at the end of the year if there’s blood stains on shit.”

“Tia, babes, there’s a human element to all of this, fuck the deposit!” Lawrence hisses, her eyes squeezing shut in agony. Ellie’s face is distressed, and her eyes dart to the kitchen cupboards.

“Do you want ibuprofen? Might help with the pain?” she suggests. If the situation wasn’t so dire, A’whora would laugh.

“Are you joking?” Lawrence asks incredulously, then upon seeing Ellie’s face realises she isn’t. A’whora watches as Lawrence pulls a face and a tight, uncomfortable smile takes hold on her face. “No. I don’t think ibuprofen is going to do much good somehow. But thank you for offering.”

Tayce returns with her car keys and rallies the four of them out the door, getting some odd stares from the other students in the courtyard as they run past frantically, Lawrence’s entire hand still wrapped in a too-big towel. They have to jog for a considerable length of time to get to Tayce’s car, the busy nature of the winding city streets rendering parking anywhere near their flat nigh on impossible. Usually A’whora wouldn’t mind the distance. Usually she’s happy to stroll easily, one hand in Tayce’s and the other relaxed by her side, butterflies in her stomach and a tug in her chest as they talk about their plans for wherever they’re headed.

This time, though, with an argument still hanging over their heads like a thundercloud which isn’t yet resolved and a friend with half a finger hanging off, the journey to the car is more than a little unwelcome.

Soon enough though they’re all scrambling to get inside, Ellie helping Lawrence with her seatbelt in the back seat and A’whora scrolling her phone ferociously to bring up Google Maps for the directions to the hospital. Tayce drives irresponsibly with scant regard for road safety regulations. In any other situation, A’whora would find it insanely attractive that Tayce is driving like she’s in a game of Gran Turismo just to get Lawrence to A&E quicker. Fuck, she does still find it attractive. But her stomach is still in a huge tangled-up knot over the note their conversation got left on.

“What actually happened, Lawrence?” Tayce asks, A’whora having to hold in her gasp of a reaction as Tayce narrowly avoids getting rear-ended while pulling out into the overtaking lane of the dual carriageway.

Lawrence gives another hiss of pain before she answers. If A’whora didn’t blink she could’ve sworn she saw Ellie squeeze her hand in the rear-view mirror. “Was talking to Veronica and Tia while I was cutting up the carrots. They said something and I turned around to respond and I didn’t look as I chopped. Stupid fuckin’ cow.”

“You’re not stupid. It’s an easy thing to do, I’ve nicked myself so many times when I’ve been cooking!” Ellie placates her. Lawrence gives a laboured chuckle in response as A’whora checks the map and tells Tayce to take a left at the next roundabout.

“Aye, fuck’s sake. The most un-co-ordinated, clumsy bitch is sat beside me with all ten fingers in tact after nearly a year of having to fend for herself meanwhile I’m sat fighting for my life. Honestly, if you fell in the Clyde you’d come out wi a salmon in your mouth.”

A’whora sneaks a look in the mirror to see both girls giggling softly and quietly, their gazes either in their lap or out the window. They’re still holding hands. A’whora thinks it’s ridiculous to be jealous of two girls who haven’t even so much as kissed, but their soft friendship and what could eventually become a mutual crush makes her nostalgic for what she and Tayce used to have.

They eventually arrive at the hospital, and once they’ve all collectively recovered from the prospect of having to pay £5 for parking they run into A&E and up to the little desk, where it takes an infuriatingly long length of time to check Lawrence in. They then are required to wait amongst the other invalids of the city on four hard blue plastic chairs, which are uncomfortable after five minutes, never mind how long Lawrence will inevitably have to wait to be seen.

The little whiteboard on the wall says that the wait time is eighteen minutes.

The conversation between the four girls is stilted; it’s not the free and easy style A’whora has come to expect between any of her flatmates. But there’s still two sets of arguments without a resolution that’re preventing them from interacting like they usually would, and a hospital waiting room that’s already covered in a blanket of tense, awkward silence shared between strangers is not the place to reconcile either of them.

Eventually, and long after the promised eighteen minutes, Lawrence’s name is called. She half-walks half-jogs up to the nurse at the little door through to the hospital, then hesitates as she reaches her.

“Can I have one of my friends in with me?” A’whora hears her ask, her voice still strained and the pain she's feeling evidently still very much present.

The nurse nods kindly, and as Lawrence turns around there’s a sudden hesitation to her usually confident body language.

“Ellie?” she calls over, gesturing with her free hand for the other girl to come with her. Ellie barely even looks back at A’whora and Tayce as she gets up from her seat quickly, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she follows Lawrence into the hospital.

There’s a moment’s silence where A’whora looks at the squeaky green linoleum floor, and then Tayce speaks.

“Aw. You’re welcome, love,” she says, soft and sarcastic and already putting a little smile on A’whora’s lips. “All I did was drive you out to the arse-end of the suburbs to get your finger sewn back together. But go on. Pick Ellie. Heard getting stitches is a great time to shoot your shot.”

A’whora laughs softly. Maybe this whole situation has been forgotten about. Maybe their entire argument was just a dream (a nightmare) and she’s just happened to have woken up in a hospital waiting room.

And then Tayce gives a heavy sigh, her body tense beside her own. No such luck.

A’whora thinks it’s apt that they're stuck in the waiting room. She feels like she’s waiting herself. For what, she doesn’t know. Waiting for an end to her and Tayce’s conversation from earlier, waiting for closure. Waiting for Tayce to reassure her that things are okay between the pair of them, or at least for her to explain what she’s meant to have done wrong. With every passing minute her stomach grows tighter, to the extent where it’s almost painful. She feels like following Lawrence and Ellie through those doors to get it checked out. Her heart rate alone would probably break the machine.

Sitting in the heavy emptiness of the lack of conversation, A’whora attempts to muster up the courage to breach the topic they both had to drop so frantically earlier that day. The thing is, she doesn’t want to. The fear of not knowing Tayce’s response to her question- the fear of the worst-case-scenario answer- is enough to lock A’whora’s jaw shut. If she doesn’t speak, they’ve still got what they’ve got. If she doesn’t speak, their relationship hasn’t changed.

She’s not even fooling herself.

Sure enough, Tayce eventually gives another huge huff. A’whora can see her turning to look at her but she doesn’t tear her eyes off the floor. She doesn’t want to acknowledge the conversation that’s about to take place.

“I’ve been thinking about what you asked me earlier.”

A’whora stays still and quiet, like a child hiding under her duvet. Tayce’s tone doesn’t hold a lot of promise. It’s flat and quiet and sincere and so lacking in life that maybe A’whora can try and pretend it’s not her that’s speaking at all.

“And I think, yeah. I think we should stop.”

A’whora is glad she’s looking at the floor. It’s suddenly an anchor that she never knew she needed. The walls of the hospital seem to crumble, the people around her seem to disappear. Her gaze is concentrated on the shiny green, that horrible shade of shiny green, and she holds onto it because if she lets go she’s going to have to look at Tayce and she can’t look at her right now. Not if the way her eyes are stinging painfully and her heart has dropped into her stomach and her throat has gone all tight and constricted as if she’s being choked is anything to go by.

“I think things have changed between us and I don’t want to lose the friendship we’ve got. And to be honest, the others knowing is weird. And we said it’s only awkward if we make it awkward, and I think at this point things are awkward. So...yeah. We should go back to just being friends,” Tayce continues quietly.

A’whora barely even registers her words, just their pitch and tone that burrs like an organ at a funeral. There’s a horrible, sickening sense of finality that grips her body, so much so that she feels as if she can’t move. If she moves she’s acknowledging that life goes on, that Tayce’s decision is final. The small background noises that were once so present in the room seem to cease to be, and instead a ringing, buzzing silence fills her ears. She blinks and she’s relieved when tears don’t appear. She takes one slow, deep breath and takes her time before she trusts herself to speak.

“Okay.”

What else can she say? She’s not going to sit and plead and ask Tayce why, even though she doesn’t really understand her reasoning. Tayce doesn’t owe her an explanation; they weren't girlfriends, she reminds herself cruelly, and it’s not as if they’re breaking up. They’re just...stopping. Going back to being friends, just like that. As if nothing had ever happened. It’s something that’s clearly going to be easy for Tayce to manage.

A’whora feels like an absolute idiot. For being in too deep, for doing exactly what Ellie had said would happen way back in December when she first got with Tayce. She feels like she’s sunk with her heart to the bottom of the ocean and has to swim to the surface and her lungs are so tight as she tries to keep her breathing steady that she feels like she might as well be drowning.

She’s being dramatic. Maybe she isn’t. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what this is all meant to feel like.

Tayce doesn’t say any more, so neither does she. She keeps her blinking methodical and her breathing deep, having to concentrate on doing both. When she’s sure she’s mastered them, she brings her hand up to the pocket of her hoodie and takes her phone out.

How can it feel weird to move?

Her fingers are slow and deliberate as she hits each letter on the keypad. Ellie’s Whatsapp picture stares back at her, her happy smile clashing so violently with the situation at hand. Maybe it’s a strange first reaction, but A’whora is just going through the motions like a robot. Anything beyond not crying in front of Tayce is a bonus right now.

A: me and Tayce not together anymore please tell the others x

She stares at the screen after it’s sent, reads it over and over again torturing herself. She hopes Ellie will read it before she and Lawrence come back. Having to act as if everything is normal is so far beyond her at the moment.

It takes what must be her twentieth time reading her own message to realise what she’s sent, and in spite of everything she feels like laughing at her mistake.

Because she and Tayce were never together.

[wille-zarr]

WIP Chapter 1 Sneak Peek

I want to just take the time to thank EVERYONE SO MUCH who responded to/liked/reblogged my post last week about my fanfiction and messaged me with encouragement. Like love and support??? What did I do to deserve that? I don’t deserve any of yoooooou. <3 @arda-ancalima @disneyjedi19 @kaminobiwan @sana-katarn  @snipsndskyguy And everyone else!! I see u guise! And @barrissoffee77​, you need to read this WIP too lollll!

So, I’ve got some Clone Wars one-shots I hope to release within the upcoming weeks, but what I need right now are BETA readers for my multi-chapter The Mandalorian fanfiction. I’ve written the first several chapters and plotted most of the story out, but I want fresh eyes to look the first chapter over and give me feedback. The story’s essentially a romance/adventure/family fic. Lots of eventual soft!Din because we stan soft Din in this house. 

To give everyone a tiny taste/sneak peek, I have included a short sample from the first chapter under the “read more” break.

If you’d be interested in BETA reading, please send me a message!

Without further ado, a tiny WIP sneak peek for a taste of chapter one (rated T) (542 words):

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“I need to ask you about one of your customers.” Your voice drops so low that even you struggled to hear what you had to say. You dart your eyes around again, still not spying the Mandalorian anywhere. You can’t help but fear at any given moment he will jump at you from behind.

“Oh?” the bartender prods.

You tense, scared to even breath the words. “The Mandalorian. He came in here, right?”

The bartender nods slowly. “He’s in one of the back booths.” he whispers, tilting his head towards the rear of the cantina.

You can’t see the back booths from your current vantage point, but your teeth clench knowing you are in such close proximity to the Mandalorian. Too close. You instinctively pull your hat down to sit lower on your face.

“What is he doing here?” You hiss, “Do you know?”

The bartender’s eyes shoot around the room. Once he is satisfied there is no one close enough to eavesdrop, he says, “He’s talking with some strangers I’ve not seen before.” An impish expression slowly grows across his face. “But I may have overheard a bit of their conversation, accidentally, mind you.” He points a finger at you with a wink.

You flash him a bright grin. “Of course, of course. Accidentally.”

The old bartender motions for you to move closer towards the wall, so you slip off the barstool and move along with him. He leans in closer to your face. “The Mandalorian is trying to discover the location of Marek’s basecamp.”

You suck air through your teeth with a sharp hiss. “No way.” You shake your head. “Good luck finding that out from anyone.”

He chuckles. “I’m certainly not going to tell him.”

You laugh along with him. “Me neither. Stars!”

Another lesson you learned about this region within the first week of your stay: it’s probably a good idea to avoid associating with Marek and his smuggling ring cronies. 

Of course, you learned this after you had already “visited” said basecamp. What can you say? You have a knack for learning lessons the hard way.

But, thank the Maker, the Mandalorian is not searching for you. You feel the tension drain from your shoulders as this realization sinks in.

“If I had any money, I’d buy a drink right now,” you chuckle, tucking your chin underneath the ragged scarf hanging loosely around your neck. The bartender’s eyes soften, and he pats you gently on the shoulder.

You smile up at him. “Thanks anyway.”

You move to stand up when an abrupt clank of metal forces you back into the chair.

Oh hell! Hell! Kriffin’ hell!

All the air shoots from your lungs as you stupidly gawk up at the Mandalorian as he leans against the bar, mere feet away from you.

“For my tab,” the Mandalorian rasps through his helmet’s voice modulator as he slides credits towards the old bartender. The Mandalorian pulls away, not sparing one glance at you before sweeping out of the cantina.

You let out a sharp breath and clasp your hands over your eyes.

“Stars,” you mumble. All of that stress and worry, and the Mandalorian hadn’t even looked at you. If you weren’t so relieved, you might would feel insulted.

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A/N: Thank you so much for reading!!!